Severus Summer
by Mersid
Summary: Following GOF, Harry spends the summer at Snape's - and a variety of tensions begin to roil. Actually has a plot and aims to please, or at least knock over the milk jars. (NOT HP/SS)
1. Camp Grenada

Title: Severus Summer

Rating: PG as of now, for mild language and scariness

Genre: Story with actual plot and vague humor

A/N: G-sharp

"Privet Drive is as protected as Hogwarts."

"Yes, Severus, in terms of the charms surrounding the house, that is quite true," said Dumbledore, "but it lacks something vital." His eyes glinted in a way that said, 'and you know exactly what it is.'

"A wizard."

"Indeed."

Snape could see where this was going. "No."

"I haven't even asked you, yet." Did Dumbledore look amused? Probably, but that guaranteed nothing.

"If Potter cannot be safe without a wizard's protection - though I honestly believe he cannot be safe without your cutting off his head - then there are certaintly better choices." Because he will not be safe with me. In the sense that I will kill him.

"I disagree. Because he needs a teacher over the summer months, to instruct him in Defense Against the Dark Arts, on the specific tools he will need, and the nature of Voldemort's organization."

"Perfect, Moody is available, I believe. Just got out of a box."

"Severus."

Was that indecision in the word? No harm in trying "Potter thinks he can protect himself; let him try."

"Severus."

"I can't be held responsible if he drinks the potions I keep in the cupboard."

"Severus."

No, damn. It hadn't been indecision. This had already been decided. 

"Mr. Potter, you will do what I ask of you, when I ask it, and otherwise you will leave me alone. If you wish to eat, you may prepare yourself food. If you wish to have clean clothes, you may find a way to wash yours. If you wish to have a clean living space, then you will keep it that way."

Harry nodded, nervous with the situation, but rather relieved. Hermione and Ron had agreed that there were essentially two tacks Snape could persue with the situation as it was: outright cruelty or simply absorbing himself in alternate work. He certaintly seemed to be leaning towards the latter. Snape continued to lecture him about the rules of the house they were to share - Snape's house, so it was probably dark and Spartan, if not underground and bare. Harry payed vague attention; he at least wanted to know what he was getting into, were he to indulge in a little rule-breaking. His ears perked up at the mention of Quidditch.

"...And if you must practice that stupid sport of yours, keep your flying below the treeline or I'll take your broom for a week."

"Yes, Professor." Harry nodded eagerly.

The path turned sharply upward and Snape's house came into view. No, thought Harry, house was not the right word. It, as best as he could tell, was no larger than the Gryffindor common room, though perhaps it was magicked to be larger on the inside, as many wizarding dwellings seemed to be. This can't be worse than the Dursley's, he reminded himself. Anything is better than that.

Snape whispered several charms to the door, while tracing its knotwork with a single, sallow fingertip. The tracing flared for a moment then died off as the door opened. "The back room is yours," he said, in a tone which showed his clear intention to say nothing more.

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

It had been Hermione's advice, to be very formal and polite. She had been the first to point out that Snape was probably no happier with the situation than he was and that they would both be better off with a minimum of sniping. And, as much as Harry was loath to admit it, Snape seemed to be doing his part admirably. He had not made a single hideously maddening comment during the trainride or the long walk to the house, which was - in fact, as small as it appeared.

Dumbledore had explained the arrangement, that it was for both protection and education, to Harry only two days after the Triwizard Tournament had concluded and he had been too tired to argue. And now he was almost glad for it. This would be safer. And Snape couldn't be worse than the Dursleys, could he?

"And Potter," said Snape, poking his head through the door, "even if we are off school grounds, I am still a teacher and I would like to remind you how unpleasant it would be to explain to your friends why Gryffindor has a negative point standing at the start of the term."

Yes. Yes, he could.

__

Dear Ron,

I've only been here three days and already Snape has already taken ten points from Gryffindor, but I'm largely saved by the fact that he thinks he's treating me badly when he's really not half as bad as the Dursleys. I can even practice Quidditch, if I stay below the treetops. The house is so covered in spells that you can actually see them in the walls if you squint; Snape says it is impossible to Apparate into or out of the house and that portkeys don't work either. 

There's a lot of work to do, apparently, because we spend a lot of time doing it. He's teaching me how to physically dodge hexes right now - several hours per day. It's much more tiring than any Quidditch practice ever was, but it's clearly a good idea of something I should know.

He bit his quill, not wanting to make the work sound to exciting. It was dirty and exhausting, but Ron tended toward jealousy about these sorts of things. Then he remembered why writing was taking so long and decided that to be the perfect detail to add.

_I'm sorry if this letter is hard to read. I'm writing with my left hand because he hexed most of the right side of my body, and I haven't found all of the countercurses yet._

Hope to hear from you soon,

Harry

He began a separate letter to Hermione, beginning it in much the same way as he began the letter to Ron. But, where Ron cared about Quidditch and hexes, Hermione would be much more interested in Snape's behavior. She would see it as valuable data. In fact, Harry would be very surprised if she didn't keep notes on Snape's actions in a folder somewhere, so he added a few descriptors she would consider valuable.

__

He's actually able to teach DADA, I suppose, since that's really what I'm learning, and I have learned a lot. I'm glad I know that he was a Death Eater, Harry glanced around to make sure Snape was nowhere nearby, _because otherwise I would be very suspicious that he knows exactly which sorts of attacks I should be prepared for._

He also reccommended the book "A Formulaic Approach to Advanced Transfigurations," but I can't make heads or tails of it. Maybe you can give it a shot.

Have fun visiting Spain,

Harry

The book would keep Hermione busy. He labled and secured both letters, before petting Hedwig and sending her on her way.

He considered writing a letter to his godfather, but decided that could wait. Explaining things to Sirius would be a very involved and lengthy task, as the animagus would view the situation as vastly threatening and conspiratorial. Picturing an enraged Sirius Black at the cabin's doorstep, snarling obscenities at Snape, was all too easy for Harry to do. In fact, he would be shocked if the vision didn't come true. He would write to Black, just not right now.

He lay back on his bed, setting his glasses on the nightstand. He felt a little bit guilty about this; he had realized only yesterday that his was the only bed in the house. Obviously, Snape lived here alone and had not had time to prepare for an extended visitor. He didn't feel too guilty, though, as it was becoming increasingly clear to him that Snape didn't sleep. Occasionally, Harry would see him dozing over a stack of papers, but he awoke from these catnaps at the slightest sound. Harry tried to leave him to sleep in peace, but it is difficult to effectively avoid anyone in a house that has only four rooms.

He tried to think of what he might say to Sirius and found the task almost as draining as the day's instruction - he was asleep before he completed the salutation.

"Get out here, Potter," Snape yelled, from the clearing behind the house. "If you don't make any progress today, I'm giving up on it utterly."

Harry seethed. He had checked the records, and this was a difficult skill, not normally taught to students at all because any strong hex-caster would form marks that were nearly impossible to dodge. They followed you as you moved.

A small one arched toward his head and he rolled beneath it. A second one, much larger hit him squarely in the chest. He was completely immobilized.

"Pathetic, aren't you, Potter?"

How was he supposed to train a student so utterly unable to learn? Stupid boy wasn't progressing half as quickly as he had before. Harry had learned to dodge hexes while on his broom in a very short time, but he was hopeless at landlocked self-defense.

Maybe it was time to change tactics, return to this later. There were other things he had decided were worth attempting to pound into the little celebrity's thick skull. For as much as he found the arrangement inconvenient and annoying, he would begrudgingly admit that Harry Potter would likely play an important role in the upcoming war and he would not, under any circumstances, unleash an improperly trained student against Voldemort's forces. As he jotted down a few ideas, he heard footsteps.

"What is it you want?"

"Just returning inside," said the boy, irritably. Probably hoping I'll congratulate him for working his way out of the immobilization hex. Potter was so used to people praising his every little accomplishment.

"It took you over an hour."

"I unravelled the spell."

"Stop right where you're standing." Potter froze. "Now, imagine I am a powerful servant of Lord Voldemort." The boy's face contorted slightly. Perhaps he thinks it is more than fantasy. He did see the Mark. "And imagine I have just immobilized the Boy-who-lived." He paused for effect. "Now consider what I might do over the course of an hour!"

Harry seemed to be considering the problem carefully. It had a sobering effect.

"What might I do, Mr. Potter?"

"Kill me. Draw my blood. Curse me. Take me to Voldemort."

"Is that all you thought of? Because there is so much more. Remember, you are immobilized, not unconscious. You could be tortured and questioned in hundreds of different ways. You could be brainwashed or re-hexed. Your hands could be magically maimed so they can never hold a wand again. And that does not begin to cover the possibilities."

Harry seemed to consider the statements. "Is there a faster way?"

"Don't get hit in the first place." He knew the statement was unfair, but he said it anyway because war is unfair, life is unfair, and foul-tempered potions teachers are always, always unfair. "And perhaps we should begin to practice...minimalist magic," he added, nonchalantly, almost as an afterthought.

"Minimalist?"

"Yes, minimal, Mr. Potter, it means 'with little' or - in this case - 'with as little as possible'."

"You mean magic with no wand," Harry guessed.

"Yes, but there are other possibilities. Magic with sound but no words, such as an immobilized person might cast, or even magic with no sound. That is the fastest way out, to produce your own counterspell."

"How can you do magic without speaking?"

"By thinking very loudly." Harry nodded as if he understood, though Snape was certain he did not.

Harry brought his eyebrows foreward. "How did you learn _minimalist_ magic?" The tone was more than slightly cynical.

Snape took a moment to glance at the calender on his desk and realized that he had not launched into a lecture in almost two days. Too long. He was overdue.

"How? The same way you will learn: by necessity. The point is only that I know and that I can teach you. Perhaps you have wondered why, in chosing your...guardian for the summer, the Headmaster did not select someone less likely to provoke in you a need for years of institutionalized therapy than I. You have wondered. You have very nearly asked, but refrained for the sake of tact. Let us consider the alternatives, hmm?"

Harry looked defensive. Probably in premature backlash to the comments Snape would make about persons the boy liked. Too bad.

"Professor Trelawny had my vote, as she has the lovely properties of being both disturbing and useless. Auror Moody is only the former, Hagrid is only the latter. Professors Vector and Sprout have few abilities outside of their respective fields."

"Hagrid is not useless!" Harry interupted, late.

"Repeat that sentence to the Ministry of Magic as they examine his body after a duel with a Death Eater. The same can be said of Professor Flitwick."

"But Flitwick _teaches_ charms."

"Thank heavens you told me. You may depart for his residence at once."

Harry didn't rise to the bait.

"Perhaps you were thinking of the ever-trustworthy werewolf/felon duo as potential advocates?"

"...Sirius is working for Dumbledore this summer, and he's not a felon."

"The truly disheartening thing about this situation is that his legal classification is entirely irrelevant to the discussion at hand."

"What about Professor Lupin? Why not him? He taught DADA, so he would know what he's talking about."

"There are several reasons, not the least of which being gross incompetence, why Lupin was not a valid choice. The most pressing was his declining to do so when contacted by Dumbledore." He paused, allowing Harry a moment to process. "And surely, you must know that both Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster have quite enough work to finish, without an irritating boy underfoot."

Their eyes met, then passed, then they both stared at the same spot on the floor.

"So, you see, Mr. Potter, that I am serving humanity in this capacity by default. Furthermore, I have a meeting to attend tonight. When I leave, you are to hide in your closet and remain there in perfect silence until I retrieve you."

"A meeting?"

"Do you require a definition? A 'meeting'" he pronounced the word as if it were foreign, "is a gathering of people for the purposes of sharing information and furthering the goals of the group."

"Is it a meeting with-" Harry stopped himself from finishing the sentence, obviously feeling that asking it in its entirety would be unwise.

"With Arthur Weasly? No." Snape enjoyed being deliberately dense. Somehow, it was more evil than being snappish.

Harry swallowed and looked surrepticiously at the papers underneath Snape's hands.

"Or were you thinking of someone else?"

Harry seemed to be considering whether or not speech was wise. In the end, the desire not to spend the entire summer in tense silence won out. "Are you becoming a spy again?"

"I never stopped. Now get in your closet and stay there."


	2. Snape, the other white meat.

A/N: Still chugging along with more of the same. Just remember: James Knox Polk was the eleventh and finest president of the USA.

Severus Snape had nearly forgotten how vastly unpleasant Lucious Malfoy could be, having spent a great deal of time in the presence of his merely-annoying son. But unpleasant he was. And the symbolism was troubling to say the least. Malfoy was in charge of muggle-torture. Voldemort was obviously making a statement - one which did not bode well for Snape - by handing him over to the sneering Malfoy: Snape, a pure-blood, was to be treated as a muggle.

At the moment, Snape was having difficulty recalling several things, including his name, his age, the date, and the circumstances surrounding Harry Potter's presence in his house, but he had no difficulty recalling the unpleasantness of Lucious Malfoy.

Questions. Lots of them, and not enough sarcastic responses to go around, but in the end, they had believed him. He had kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe, murmuring his greatfulness for his lord's mercy, utterly humiliated and just furious enough to remain fully aware of his surroundings, despite the pain.

And now he was back home, feeling vicious pains all over his body and trying to recall what it was he needed to do. He sat down at his desk, exhausted, but unwilling to slump. His dignity was quite offened enough for the night.

Night, Black, Potter. That was it. Potter was supposedly still in his closet, though the boy had likely thought himself the better of that rule and wandered off. He rose slowly, but steadily, and headed to the back room to retrieve Potter. The bed was empty - maybe the boy had obeyed after all. He slid the closet door open, surprised to see a vigilant Harry Potter exhale mightily.

"Professor," he said with a restrained half-yawn, obviously tired.

"Go to bed, Potter."

The boy nodded, did as he was told, too tired to even ask.

Snape returned to his desk. Wandless magic. Magic without words. How to teach that? Oh, of course. It would steal a little bit of Potter's glory, but it was better than nothing.

Harry fell asleep the moment he entered the bed, unaware of how long he had sat in the closet, still and silent - as requested. Without his friends and their conspiracy theories available to compound his discomfiture, he was finding himself to be far more docile.

But as he awoke slowly the next day, the image of Snape, leaning into the closet, began to stick out in his mind. Snape often looked unwashed and slimy, but he always looked controlled and tempered. Last night, he had not. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what the meeting was about, which he was about to toss about in his mind when he heard a sharp rapping at the front door.

He slipped out of bed and padded across the floor, opening the door only a crack so that he could watch Snape interact with the visitors.

It turned out that visuals were largely unnecessary.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, YOU GREASY BASTARD!"

"Now, Sirius, keep your voice down, I don't think-"

Severus opened a window pleasantly. "There is an enchantment on this house such that none can enter without my invitation. And that is certaintly not the way to go about getting it." He smiled, feeling far more Snapeish than he had the previous night. "Now may I be informed as to why you - of all people - felt the need to pay me a visit this morning."

"We know you have Harry Potter."

Lupin took a small step apart from Black, as if to distance himself from the first-person plural in that statement.

"I don't know if the possessive is an appropriate choice of verbiage," replied Severus, entirely unruffled.

"If I find that you're not treating him well..."

"Well, I was planning to scar his body with extensive elective surgery, but why don't you explain the alternatives first?"

Remus Lupin decided that now was a good time to intervene. "Sirius, calm down, please. Professor, may we please come in?"

Black was meanwhile muttering something which contained the words 'surgery,' 'slimy,' and 'kill.'

"Please do, I wanted nothing more than a werewolf and a murderer to join me for...is it lunchtime already?" The sarcasm was thick enough to choke Hagrid.

Harry sat at the lunch table, still in his pyjamas, across from a concerned-looking Lupin and an irritated-looking Snape. Black sat next to him. "Dumbledore thought this would be a good idea. Safer, I suppose."

"You'd be _safer_ with me."

"There's a lovely idea," interupted Snape, "would you feed him to a werewolf as well? Or perhaps a troll this time?"

Lupin bristled slightly and unnoticeably at being compared to a troll. "Snape, what is it that you're working on?" At the 'you're', he gestured across to Harry to denote the plural.

"Avoiding hexes. And wandless magic."

"And where does elective surgery come into all of this?" asked Sirius with a growl.

"A project I've been doing a great deal of research on. I don't imagine you would understand, as it requires a fourth-grade reading level."

Unlike his snarling compatriots, Lupin actually had work which needed to be done that day. "Then explain it to me."

Snape turned, willing to accept the premise. "As you are aware, each wand contains an item of magical significance: a dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix tail-feather. Wandless magic can be very...useful in wartime."

Lupin nodded.

"These same items can be inbedded in the body to facilitate wandless magic. Essentially turning the whole body into a wand. The extra scars are decoys."

"What d'ya mean, extra SCARS?" Sirius was beginning to yell again, which was not a good sign.

"If we continue with the procedure, there will be a small scar where the item is inserted. It would be wise to create several decoy scars so that the item cannot be removed simply and immediately."

Now Sirius was thoroughly agitated, because the planning sounded extremely plausible and the idea sounded useful. He hated lacking a strong target for wrath.

"It doesn't really sound like a bad idea," said Harry, tactfully refraining from mentioning that this was the first he had heard of it. "If I were to be captured, the first thing the Death Eaters would do is take my wand."

"And how do you know that, hm? From him. Because he is one." Sirius's teeth had become fangs and he was bearing them at Snape.

"Sirius, please." Lupin was rapidly becoming very annoyed with the antics of both so-called adults.

Snape looked genuinely offended for the smallest of moments while before contorting his face into a typical sneer. "And you can identify them so well. Too bad you missed Peter Pettigrew."

The silence was more violent than either the words which proceeded it or the flailing lunge which followed it. Sirius was furious, but Snape was well-trained. A full body-bind brought the fight to an end before it began; Snape returned his wand to its resting place in his robes and sat back down, unruffled and unbothered by the unconscious man on his floor. "Where were we?"

Lupin's hand reached his forehead with remarkable efficiency and speed. This was going to take all day.

"Did you really mean what you said, or were you just trying to piss off Sirius?" Harry had become bolder in his week of living with Snape, as the latter no longer threatened to take away Gryffindor points at every turn.

"Which statement are you referring to? The spells on this house? Our cirriculum this summer? His reading abilities?"

"The surgery."

"Oh, that. I was quite serious, Potter. Yes, I'm afraid it has the potential to make your victories less glorious and noteworthy, but it has the benefit of making your battles more likely to be victories."

Not rising to baited, loaded statements was becoming a habit. "Actually, I was wondering how we would go about choosing the magical item. Does it have to be the same one as is in my wand?"

"That would certaintly help, yes, but it might prove impractical. What is the core of your wand?"

Harry hesitated. It was from Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, which wasn't embarrassing in the slightest, but Voldemort's wand bore the same core, a fact which disturbed him greatly, though it had saved his life when he had battled Voldemort in the graveyard.

"Don't you know?" came Snape's liquid sarcasm when the answer took too long.

"Phoenix feather," he said finally. "I might be able to get another..." He trailed off, not really knowing how one went about getting feathers from a phoenix.

"Really?" Snape raised his eyebrows with interest. "And how is that?"

"It's Fawkes. Fawkes's feather, I mean, in my wand. Maybe the Headmaster could, um, ask Fawkes for another."

Snape offered an eye-roll at 'ask,' but otherwise seemed pensive. "From Fawkes? How interesting."

Harry positively winced as the interest rolled off of the Potions Master's tongue. Did Snape know where Fawkes' other feather was? Snape didn't know. Snape couldn't know. Because there was no one in the world who he would prefer to keep in the dark regarding his wand's origin.

"As I understand it, Fawkes is rather recalcitrant when feather-donations are requested, but I will write to Dumbledore nonetheless. It is vastly preferable that you use an appropriate core..."

Harry nodded, then found himself in a Leg-Locker Curse, entirely unrelated to the subject matter at hand.

"Give me your wand, Potter, and find me when you can walk again."

Harry hopped indignantly away.

"I don't trust him, not for a minute, and certaintly not with Harry."

"I'm quite aware of your sentiments, Sirius." You've been making them known to me for the past hour.

"He was a slimy little bastard as a kid and he grew of to slimier Death Eater of an adult."

"I know you disapprove." Nothing he said now mattered, really. If he agreed, Black would continue to rant. If he dissagreed, Black would shake him by the collar and rant more loudly. If he remained neutral, there was a fair-to-decent chance that Sirius's short attention span would kick in and the ranting would be done.

"Why didn't they ask you? He's a threat to the ongoing-"

"They did, Sirius."

"And I think he ought to be strung from the Whomping Willow by his toenails for some of the things he's done. And a Death Eater to boot. I should've-" Something registered. "They did ask you?"

"Yes, and I declined."

"WHY?"

"Keep your voice down. This is what Muggles call a 'mall' and decorous behavior is expected." I can't take you anywhere, can I?

"Why are we here?"

"Because I am selecting a present for my third cousin, Marian, who is a muggle and is celebrating her birthday." Not that Remus Lupin had ever met her, but one only turned seven years old once.

"Why didn't you take the job?"

"I decided that my malady would be inhibitive. Far too simple for a Death Eater to simply attack on the full moon. Besides," he said while examining a toy which seemed to exist solely to irritate the parents of its posessor, "Dumbledore preferred to leave him with Snape. Thought it would be good for the both of them, it seems."

Sirius did not seem to have Lupin's fath in Dumbledore. "I don't like Snape, I don't trust him, and I don't want Harry living there."

Like a two year old, Black could be. Remus sighed audibly and inspected another toy. Might as well put the childish man to good use. "Keep your present mentality and imagine you are female. Would you like this?"

Snape wrote more notes on the page, carefully adding partitions. No, this wouldn't work either. He couldn't add the lemongrass without more aconite, but more aconite would make the potion deadly. He scratched the list out and began a fourth. Perhaps a swelling solution could be modified to produce scarring, with a separate potion to induce discoloration. And that had the added benefit of being reversible. But there were so many things which couldn't be mixed with swelling solution. This was going to be complicated.

He wrote ideas down as quickly as they arrived in his mind so he wouldn't lose any and so that he could sort and organize them later. A previous idea about actually killing small amounts of tissue also promise, though it would require a great deal of precision.

"I'm done."

Damn that, Potter, almost made me lose my train of thought.

"After how long? Two hours?"

"I produced the countercurse."

Interesting tone. Clearly not trying to brag, but also trying to forestall another vicious lecture. "For your own sake, I hope you are only ever accosted by very, very slow Death Eaters. Perhaps a demonic turtle, or oak tree." He paused. "And why are you still standing here?"

Harry seemed to consider this. "Do I have any more work to do today?"

"I was planning to wait until later to re-lock your legs."

Harry nodded and began to walk out of the room as Snape returned to his paperwork. There had to be a more efficient way to solve the puzzle, but he was too tired to see it. Far too tired. Far, far too tired.

"Sit down, Potter. Let's see if you're really as awful at potions as you appear to be."

He explained the lemongrass/aconite problem to the nodding mass of dark hair that sat across the table. "What do you think should be done?"

Harry shrugged, but pensively. "I had assumed you were going to make the scars with a knife."

"Not really a bad idea, I suppose, but so inelegant." Of course he had considered using a knife. After meeting with Sirius, he had even considered using a knife without a numbing potion, but outright, physical sadism had never been of interest to him. Besides, Sirius _would_ kill him.

"Aren't you going to use a knife to put the phoenix feather in me?"

"Stop thinking like a muggle. Of course not."

"How, then?"

"Something like Apparating for objects. Think of it like a very fast _accio_ spell."

"The why all of the scars?"

"Because there are two constants in the universe: death and stupidity. If there are decoy scars, your captor will assume that there is a reason for this and procede to inspect each and every one of them, giving you a great deal of time to plan some sort of idiotic stand."

"Have you ever done this before?" What was that tone? Suspicion?

"No. But this is just the sort of thing you _should_ be taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts, not you personally, but every student. How to think ahead. How to think in general."

"Is that why you want the job?" So slow with the question, as if my interest in it were some sort of secret. Stupid boy.

"No, the pay is better." Stupid question gets a stupid answer. He paused. "Perhaps we could transfigure your skin. Did you read the book I reccommended?"

"I tried, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. It's nothing like what we've done in class."

"Of course, McGonagall teaches you spells and you spit them back. Advanced magic consists almost entirely of learning to contstruct your own spells. Go get the book and find the part of partial human transfiguration. And read the chapter on permanance and semi-permanance."

Snape looked back at his sheets. Potions could be used to accomplish virtually every magical task - they weren't, however, always the best way. He hated that.


End file.
